


Five Times Mick Saw Len in a Skirt

by grimmfairy



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Eventual Smut, Fanart, Foreplay, Len likes the feel of tights and panties, Leonard in a skirt, Lingerie, M/M, Making Love, Mick digs it, Mick likes foreplay, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panties, Smut, bent over a table, he also learns about women's fashion on accident, kind of, len buys lots of new things, mick really likes len in skirts, so this got way deeper than i originally planned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:04:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7032265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmfairy/pseuds/grimmfairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty self explanatory, fueled by the recent pics of Captain Cold in a kilt and the resulting tumblr prompts and art and whatnot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedHead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/gifts), [Rinzler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinzler/gifts).



> [artwork](http://blinkstep.com/post/145038424960/i-took-a-quick-break-from-agonizing-over-the)

Mick wasn't as stupid as people seemed to think he was, not that he encouraged them to think any differently. He knew that Len often used his perceived stupidity as an ace in hole if plans went sideways. Mick was also not a close minded bigot. He wasn't liberal either. He just simply did not give a fuck what other people did with their lives.

Gay? Didn't care. He'd been to prison, stumbled drunkenly into seedy gay bars, listened to kids half his age talk about suicide attempts after being disowned by their families when the court placed him in a mental care facility instead of prison. He knew what homosexuality was.

Bi? Still didn't care. Though finding out bisexuality was a thing had made him realize a few things about himself. Explained a lot about his adolescent experimenting, that was for sure. And the occasional fucking he and Snart partook in when they were both in the mood. Well, Mick was always in the mood, but Snart controlled when where and how it happened, as always. He had a feeling Lewis hadn't been particularly supportive of his son's affections for other men.

However, walking in on Snart wearing a skirt over what looked like some kind of tights while bent over his worktable was surprising to say the least. He didn't mean to, he was just looking for a place to crash after getting shit faced and almost burning down a bar and he knew that Snart had a hideout nearby. He wasn't surprised that his partner was there when he stumbled into the workroom after picking the frontdoor lock. Snart wasn't the only one that could opened locked doors, okay? He wasn't even surprised that Snart didn't hear him come in until he called his name, because sometimes the stubborn bastard would get so absorbed into his work that he forgot to eat or sleep for days. What he was surprised by was the fact that Snart looked terrified for a split second.

He could count on his fingers the number of times he'd seen Snart actually scared, and most of them were years ago when he still had Lewis breathing down his neck.

This was different. 

"What are you doing here?" Snart managed to say, looking for all the world like he wanted to run.

The black fabric of his skirt swayed slightly, brushing against the tights (leggings? Mick was pretty sure he'd have to touch to know the difference). Snart remained frozen in place in front of his worktable, blueprints and papers scattered about. Mick wasn't sure he should approach because the cold gun was within reach. He wondered what the skirt felt like, if it was soft like felt or smooth like the fake satin strippers wore. Knowing Snart, it was probably something expensive like cashmere. Did they make skirts out of cashmere? He didn't know. Maybe Snart would let him touch it.

"I'm crashing on your shitty couch," Mick answered. Snart flicked his piercing eyes over Mick's appearance, taking in the singe marks. 

"Fine."

Mick finally moved, confident that Snart wouldn't try to freeze him, and collapsed on the couch. He kicked off his shoes and laid back. Snart was particular about shoes on the furniture. He wasn't really that tired, especially with all these new thoughts in his head, but he figured Snart wasn't much in the mood for company at the moment.

"Aren't you going to ask?" Snart asked, his voice tight. Mick couldn't see him, but he knew that Snart was still standing in the exact same place as before.

"'Bout what?"

He could imagine the annoyed look on Snart's face. It was the same face he made when he thought Mick was being purposefully obtuse. Snart came around to stand in front of him.

"You know what."

"Are those tights or those leggings things?" Mick asked, eyeing the muscular legs in front of his face. Wouldn't having fabric that tight against hairy legs be uncomfortable? Unless...

"Mick!" Snart's hands balled into fists.

"Did you...do you shave your legs?"

" _Mick!"_ Len snapped. 

"What am I, your shrink? I don't give a _shit_ what you wear," Mick grumbled. Snart looked taken aback. 

"That's it?"

"Unless you want to fuck, yeah. That's it."

Snart went back to his work then, but handed Mick the remote to the TV so he could watch something on  low volume.

 

 


	2. Second time: Making love over the table

Snart didn't bring up the "incident" after that night. Captain Cold and Heatwave continued with their thieving ways, and everything is back to normal. Well, normal enough. Snart in his skirt featured a few times in his late night "private time", and his porn history started gearing towards men in skirts and lingerie. He and Snart fucked a few more times after a few drinks. And then Snart was confronted by one of Lewis's old "buddies" that sat in their booth at Saints and Sinners and tried to coerce him into a terrible plan. Lisa wass threatened, some shit got talked, and then of course when it was apparent that Snart was about to freeze everyone in a twenty foot radius, the old bastard had to escalate the situation.

"At least your father knew how to beat the fairy out of you," The man sneered. Snart's eye twitched. "Yeah that's right, Lewis told me about your perversions."

"Leave while I still let you," Snart growled. The man just smirked and looked at Mick.

"Did you know your boss used to dress like a sissy? His old man-"

Mick hoped that guy knew a good dentist, because his teeth were still on the dirty bar floor. Mick's hand stung where the skin had cracked over his knuckles and teeth had cut in, but he still drove them back to the hideout. Crashing on the sofa for a night had quickly turned into crashing on the couch for two weeks with a suitcase full of clothes in the corner. Snart went and locked himself into his room after grabbing a bottle a vodka from the cabinet, so Mick settled himself in front of the TV again with the first aid kit. He didn't need an infection from that asshole's mouth. He'd seen what happened to inmates that got bit during riots and didn't seek proper medical services. When his hand was suitably cleaned and bandaged, he took apart his gun to clean it and admire the parts again. So lost in his contemplation, he almost missed the way Snart stumbled back into the room, half empty bottle hanging from limp fingers.

"What are you waiting for?" Snart slurred at him, motioning to the pleated blue skirt that now adorned his frame. It looked a bit like a kilt, but a little shorter, and the fabric looked like it might be smooth to the touch. Black tights, because they were definitely tights this time because they had a run going up the left leg, covered Snart's legs again and the soft sweater he had been wearing at the bar was just covering the waistband. Mick carefully slid the last piece of his gun back into place before setting the powered-down weapon aside.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I know your jus' waitin' to do sumthin'," Snart stumbled forward. "Admit it, you think I'm a fairy."

"You're plastered. Go sleep it off, Snart."

"No, you tell me what your game is! Nobody sees me wearing a-a fucking _skirt_ and thinks nothin'!" Snart said, his voice rising. He took another swig of vodka.

"I don't think, that's your job, remember?" Mick replied, reaching for the bottle in Snart's hand, which he released willingly enough. Snart seemed to deflate. Ah, the sad drunk stage of Leonard Snart, one rarely reached and definitely not one that Mick ever felt capable of dealing with. Neither of them were particularly good with deep feelings. Too many scars.

"You really...don't care?" Snart asked. His body language screamed sadness, with drooping shoulders and crossed arms. Mick shrugged. Snart seemed to consider this for a moment before sitting next to Mick on the sofa, his back ramrod straight and his feet, encased in the black tights, settled on the carpet. He looked pointedly away from Mick, focusing instead on the TV. Mick had recorded the game, mostly because he knew Snart would bitch about missing his hockey team. Mick knew that Snart felt vulnerable, so he drank from the vodka, not even grimacing at the burn as it went down. He'd had a few beers but it was early in the night and it took the rest of the bottle to reach the same drunken level as Snart. Two hours later they were drinking coffees with water glasses on the table in front of them, watching late night reruns of CSI. Neither of them were terribly drunk anymore but the hangover was going to be a bitch.

"I do have one...question," Mick said. Snart shot him an accusing glare.

"You said-" Snart said. Mick cut him off.

"I still don't care, I'm jus' curious," Mick explained, the remaining buzz making him more earnest. "Why the...the tights?"

"Because they're comfy," Snart said. Mick looked at his legs dubiously.

"But they're so...tight," Mick said and broke into giggles. Snart joined him, and they giggled like the drunken bastards they were for a few seconds. Once sad-Snart had retreated back into happy-buzzed-Snart, the night had gotten infinitely more fun.

"I jus' like the way they feel on my skin," Snart shrugged. "Feels smooth."

"You shave your legs."

"Sometimes," Snart confirmed. "I like the feeling."

"I've known you since we was kids, how did I miss this?" Mick asked, leaning back into the couch cushions. 

"'Cause I hid it from you," Snart answered. "My old man caught me once, made sure I knew his opinions on the matter. Nobody...nobody understands. I'm not trying to be a woman, and it isn't a fetish. I just...like them. Nobody _understands_. "

"I understand you look hot in them skirts," Mick said, waving his hand dismissively. "Tha's all I need."

"You're an asshole." Snart smacked Mick on the arm. "You can't say shit like that and not follow through."

Snart stood to bring his mug to the small kitchen, where he placed it in the sink. Just because it was a hideout didn't mean it had to be messy. He felt Mick's presence behind him before he turned around from the sink. 

"What are you doing?" Snart asked, not turning around. His hands gripped the countertop.

"Following through," Mick said, crowding against him. "If you're up to it."

Rough calloused hands settled on his waist, just inches above the waistline of the skirt. Mick was itching to touch, but unwilling to risk his fingers by going too far without permission.

"I'm not your bitch, or a fairy," Snart warned, his tone icy. "Don't call me names. I'm still in charge."

"I know," Mick rumbled into his ear. Snart exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Can I touch you now, boss?"

Snart nodded his assent, and Mick trailed his hands down until they hit the skirt. He let them roam over the fabric, analyzing the the texture. It was softer than he had imagined, and the pleats were interesting to explore with his fingers. Snart shuddered when his left hand reached around to cup him through the skirt. Snart rolled his hips so Mick could feel him getting hard. He then lifted the hem in the back to see the way Snart's ass looked, framed by blue pleats that were scrunched around it. He ran a finger over the seem that separated his asscheeks, pressing lightly. He didn't feel any underwear. Mick dropped the skirt back into place and turned him around, not manhandling him but with firm movements, and lifted him by his waist on to counter by the sink. Snart's legs fell open naturally, allowing Mick to stand between them, and his feet balanced precariously on the ridges of the cabinets under him. The tights made it more difficult than usual. Mick lifted the hem of the skirt and pushed it to Snart's stomach. Snart's erection was obscenely bulging against its confines, and Mick stroked it through the stretchy material of the tights. Snart was right, they were smooth.

"Are you commando under the tights?" Mick said, his voice deeper with growing arousal. He just had to know. Snart shook his head.

"No, they don't feel right if I do that. I-I wear special-I'm wearing panties," Snart gasped as Mick bent down to mouth at him. Mick stood back up and smirked at him. "Shut up, men's underwear makes lines."

"The more you know," Mick said. He reached for Snart's sweater. "Off."

Snart hesitated. He had been naked with Mick more than once. Countless times, actually, mainly for quick fucks with the occasional drawn out lovemaking before Mick was burned. But he already felt exposed. Still, the way Mick was looking at him, his pupils blown wide and blazing with the kind of passion he used to see before the fire, was making him feel powerful. He hadn't realized how much he missed the way Mick used to look at him, the way he used to allow himself to look at Mick. The sweater crumbled to the ground at their feet. Mick traced the familiar scars with his eyes. They mapped out a hard life, each scar telling a story. To make it even, Mick stripped off his shirt as well, revealing the gnarled skin of his arms and chest.

"I wanna bend you over your table and fuck you on your plans, nice and slow," Mick said bluntly. The papers and blueprints on the table were useless anyways, the job was done and the security system would be upgraded. Snart seemed thrown by the idea for a second before regaining his composure.

"Then we had better get started," He drawled, wrapping his legs around Mick's waist and pulling him forward to grind their erections together. It felt so different through tights, the coarse denim of Mick's jeans providing a sharp contrast. Mick growled at him and hauled him up so Snart could wrap his arms around his strong neck. Mick's hands gripped Snart's ass, supporting most of his weight and allowing him feel the firm muscle even as the skirt fell over his hands. It was pressed against his bare abs in front, barely concealing what was beneath. The trip to the table was a short one. Mick wasn't in the mood to screw around. 

"Get the lube," Snart ordered once he had his (slightly unsteady) feet beneath him again. Mick rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not an idiot."

When Mick returned naked as the day he was born, he stopped in his tracks. Snart had removed his tights and he was bent over the table to rest on his elbows and forearms. Mick approached slowly, noticing that Snart was starting to look nervous again. He had the strong feeling that no one else had ever seen Snart like this, wearing only a skirt and emotionally vulnerable. Snart had never looked at him like this during sex. Then again, for the first time in a long time, Mick _could_ have a leg up on his partner, something to hold over his head. Of course, he wasn't going to.

"You wanna leave it on?" Mick asked, giving him an out, as much as it pained him. Snart nodded, his piercing eyes daring Mick to do something.

The skirt was just covering Snart's ass and hanging limply in front of his dick, pulled by gravity. Mick reached out a hand and ran his palm over the scars on Snart's back, a familiar gesture that always seemed to make the man relax. Mick, moving slowly so as to not break the strange tension in the room, crouched down to smooth his hands over Snart's hairless legs. They felt so much like a woman's, but thicker and more defined. He trailed his fingers up the insides of Snart's thighs until he reached the upper thigh. Then he gently pushed the hem of the skirt up the remaining few inches of leg, then over the swell of his ass, revealing a black pair of panties that weren't quite a thong but they didn't cover much. They were made of smooth seamless fabric that looked painted on except for the way they were being stretched by Snart's dick. Mick groaned when he pulled aside the fabric covering Snart's hole.

"You were ready for me," Mick said, biting Snart's left asscheek lightly. Snart shuddered. He had been getting drunk to drown out his memories before he put on his skirt to confront Mick. And he preferred fingering himself if he was cleaned out before he did so. Besides, sometimes he got horny when he was drunk.  Better to be prepared, just in case.

"You're not sticking it in yet, I'm not _that_ ready," Snart said, glancing over his shoulder. Mick met his gaze.

"I don't skimp on foreplay, you know that."

Snart grinned and then let his head fall back towards the table. Mick uncapped the lube and squirted some onto his fingers.

"This is gonna get messy, you wanna take these off or...?" Mick asked, snapping the panties playfully. Snart thought about it, and told him to leave them on. These weren't his favorites anyways.

Mick pulled the fabric to the side again, and pressed a lubed finger into Snart. It went in easily, and Mick took a few minutes to slide it in and out, occasionally pulling it out to trace the pink rim teasingly. Snart hissed at him to get on with it, so he added another finger. He had always liked fingering his partners, he was good at it and he could do it forever, just feeling the give of the muscles and the way they spasmed when he found the prostate. Snart was no different. When he added a third finger with more lube, he decided to stop teasing and crooked his fingers just right until Snart's toes and he sucked in a harsh breath. Snart wasn't the most vocal during foreplay, Mick had found early on. But he certainly liked to talk during the main event. 

"Just fuck me already!" Snart hissed. Mick chuckled, enjoying himself way too much. He grasped Snart's hip with one hand, the other still moving inside him, and maneuvered his back until just his forearms rested on the table and his chest was over the floor. The skirt had become little more than a belt of drapey fabric just below his rib cage. Mick nudged his legs a few more inches apart and withdrew his fingers after a few more seconds of shamelessly watching them pumping in and out. Mick pulled the condom from his pocket and ripped the packaging open, proud that his hands didn't shake when his rolled it on.

Snart tensed at the first touch of Mick's lubed dick to his hole, but relaxed just as fast. Mick pushed in slowly, centimeter by centimeter, torn between watching himself disappear into his partner, and tipping his head back in pleasure. Usually he didn't bother watching, but this time Snart's ass was framed by those panties, and he wrapped his hand around the skirt for a handhold. Snart moaned low in his throat as Mick pulled out until just the tip was in, and then pushed back in a little further at the same glacial pace. 

"So good, Snart," Mick growled. Snart stiffened.

"Call me...call me Len," Snart gasped. He didn't feel like "Snart" was appropriate anymore, not when this was clearly not the quick dirty fucking they normally did. This was slow, and careful, and  _tender._

That made Mick pause. He hadn't called him Len during sex for a long time. It made it seem more personal, more like the old days when their fucking was more than just a pastime between fuckbuddies. Then again, he had felt closer to Snart, Len, after stumbling onto his secret. 

"God, _Len_. You don't know what you're doing to me," Mick groaned, picking up a gentle rocking that seated him a bit deeper with each thrust.

"I know _exactly_ what I'm doing to you," Len answered smugly, wiggling his ass a little.

Mick pulled Len up a bit so he could thrust upwards, wrapping his arms around Len's torso and making sure to fondle Len's nipples. Len could feel the rough burns on Mick's chest on his back, the odd friction adding a personal element, but he kept his hands on the table. Len finally felt Mick's balls on his ass, and Mick paused again to savor the feeling. Mick placed an impulsive kiss on Len's shoulder blade before pushing him back down over the table.  He grabbed the creamy hips and hooked the panties over his thumb so that they were pulled to side exposing most of Len's balls, his large hands digging in a little harder just the way Len liked it. He took a faster pace, pushing Len forward with each thrust until he was rocking back to meet him.

"Ungh, Mick, harder," Len ordered. "Fuck me like you mean it."

Mick grinned, his mind lighting up with pleasure similar to that which fire gave him. Len was hot inside, and silky even as lube squelched around, and he was clenching around him at intervals. Len's moans filled the room and papers fluttered to floor as the table moved under him. Mick grabbed the skirt with the hand not holding the panties to the side and he used it almost like a reign, pulling Len backwards to meet his thrusts, punching out little moans and gasps from his lover. 

"If I'd-nugh-known you'd react like this-FUCK- I would have told-told you sooner," Len managed to say. "I have so much more-"

He broke off in favor of moaning before dropping head to his arms. Mick focused on circling his hips a little, pounding into him fiercely until he found Len's prostate again. Len reached down between his legs to touch himself, and Mick matched his rythym to Len's hand as best he could. The heat was pooling in his stomach and he wished it could last longer, but he wasn't as young as he used to be and Len...god, Len was writhing so nicely on him. Len came with strangled moan, and Mick released the skirt to reach for Len's erection to stroke him through his orgasm even as he felt himself climaxing. Len let Mick continue thrusting through the aftershocks, shaking with over-sensitivity. Mick finally pulled his softening dick out and went to dispose of the condom. He got a wet cloth from the bathroom and brought it back for Len who was just straightening up. The skirt was wrinkled and no longer centered, having twisted around Len's waist during Mick's thrusting. Len himself looked absolutely sinful, his face flushed and glowing with his climax. He cleaned himself off with the warm cloth and retreated to the bathroom to shower. He didn't like feeling sticky. Mick gathered the scattered clothes and put them in the pile of Len's other dirty clothes before retrieving his own jeans and shirt to put them back on. There was twenty four hour diner closeby and he was starving now, and he was willing to bet Snart-Len, was as well. Plus, Len always took long showers when the water pressure was as good as this hideout's.

When he got back with the greasy diner food in the Styrofoam containers, Len was just sitting down to watch CSI again, which Mick had put on mute while they fucked. The food was quickly eaten and the containers discarded. When Len finally turned in for the night, he hesitated after walking a few steps away from the couch before striding determinedly back and pressing a chaste kiss to Mick's lips. 

"Goodnight, Mick."

"Goodnight, Len."

Mick slept alone on the couch.


	3. The third time: Part 1 of 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two-part chapter

Mick was trying hard not to press his partner for more. Snart had never reacted well to being forced into anything, whether it be one of his old man's horribly planned schemes or doing favors for the right people in prison so he could escape. Of course, more than one convict had found themselves parked in the prison infirmary for suggesting that Snart perform a very _specific_ favor, especially in the early years when Snart was especially pretty. Mick spent a lot of time in solitary the first time he and Snart landed in Iron Heights together, and once Snart bulked up and learned to fight he stopped taking the brunt of the assault and let Snart handle his own problems. As partners, their "romantic" relationship beyond pulling jobs and occasionally fucking had burned hot and bright. They fought passionately, and made up passionately. Then, Mick was burned because he couldn't look away, even as Snart pulled desperately at his coat and shouted for him to come with.

Mick chose the flames over Snart, and Snart chose to leave.

Thoughts of what could have been left a sour, bitter taste on Mick's tongue. Now that he was older, had seen the wreckage of his life without his partner, he would always choose Snart over the flames. But he wasn't sure anymore if Snart would care.

Then he found out about Snart's little secret, and Mick dared to hope that maybe something would give. But a night of love-making and calling him Len wasn't enough to bridge the divide that had grown between them, or melt the ice that Snart wore like armor around him. He was tired of fighting, of bashing himself against the ice, trying to get even a sliver of what they used to have back. And it was all his fault. Someone with issues like Snart's wouldn't allow the same trust to form immediately after such a jarring experience. The fact that he was even in Mick's life at all now was mostly thanks to the Flash, little uppity do-gooder that he was.

Still, even though Len had reverted back to Snart, both in demeanor and in his thoughts, things were...better in a sense. Snart was less guarded around him, more accepting of Mick's touch. He didn't shy away from the brush of fingers when Mick handed him a beer, or the touching of their knees when they sat side-by-side to clean and inspect their guns. Mick felt the compulsion to stare at the flame of a lighter or burn small pieces of paper lessen around him, like a muted shadow of how it had been years ago. And Snart had made sure to plan a job where their getaway hinged almost solely on Mick's ability to set ablaze the inside of the empty construction site next to their target. The stacks of lumber and temporary work benches had burned beautifully. Snart had even planned a few extra seconds into their escape for him to admire the dancing flames, though when Mick turned back to leave he saw Snart's face. Shadows flickered over his partner's face, and for a moment, Mick could have sworn he saw fire in Snart's eyes, burning just for him. It was a flame much more precious than any other. Then they ran.

* * *

 

The was nothing particularly special about the night. The money from their heist was squirreled away, Mick had spent the morning sleeping off a spectacular night of drinking and possibly singing, and the rain had started pouring outside after noon. Mick didn't really like the rain. When it rained, everything was damp. Nothing burned. Any heat from the sun became humidity, sticky and depressing. Snart, however, seemed to find solace in the rain. He was quieter, more relaxed, prone to reading with the little black glasses perched on his nose. Those were new, something Mick had noticed after their reunion. God, they were getting old. It wasn't a secret that Mick had to hit a little harder, act a little meaner, to compensate for the ever-younger crowd of amateurs that liked to start fights at Saints and Sinners.

Mick was watching Die Hard, he liked the explosions and the cheesy dialogue and the memories of sneaking into the theater with Snart, back when he was Len to him. The rain pounded on the ceiling of their hideout, and the heat was for once up to a level that Mick could stand instead of hellishly freezing like Snart kept it most of the time. It was probably Snart's way of pacifying him in the face of the increasingly heavy rain. The rainstorm starting turning rougher, more dangerous. Thunder started cracking, loud and very close, lightning making the darkness disappear for flashes. Snart, predictably, sauntered out of his room to sit next to Mick, closer than usual and pressing their knees together. 

If there was anything that Mick could praise about thunderstorms as opposed to rainstorms, it was the way they made Snart horny. Like a teenager. He didn't know why, and neither did Snart, but that's how it was. The teasing gleam in Snart's eye as he very deliberately took Mick's hand and pulled him towards the bedroom. Mick went willingly. He trusted Snart, and he was already anticipating the copious sex he was going to get. Thank you, thunderstorms. The door to the bedroom opened, and Mick wasn't sure at first what he was supposed to be looking at. He had been in here before. Recently, in fact. Then Snart inclined his head slightly to the bed, the teasing glint still in his eyes. On the bed, laid out neatly and in precise order with matching parts, were several skirts. Several skirts with _matching lingerie_. The practical black panties Snart had worn for him the first time were nowhere in sight. 

No, "practical" was not a word he would use for what was laid before him. He didn't know all the names for the fabrics and styles and whatnot, but he could tell these were not for outsiders to see. These were brand new, from what Mick could tell, unworn and just for him.

"What's this?" Mick asked, his voice already rough. "Not that i'm complainin', but this doesn't seem like your usual style."

"That job? The getaway? I was testing you," Snart said, his drawl failing to mask the nervous tone. "I wanted to see if you would follow through, or get distracted."

_If you would pick them over me again._

"I must've done something right," Mick said, finally approaching the bed. 

"You passed," Snart said, a hint of sarcasm flavoring his voice as he plastered himself to Mick's back and looked over his shoulder. "You were focused, and turned away when time was up. I think...you deserve a reward."

If Mick were younger, he might have shuddered when Snart suddenly licked along his jugular vein.

"What did you have in mind?" Mick asked, angling his neck to allow Snart better access. Snart would have to work harder to give him a hickey. He didn't bruise easily.

"Well..." Snart purred. "You didn't delete your internet history. I saw the videos you watched."

Mick tensed.

"You went poking around in my business again?" 

"I'll make it up to you," Snart said, nuzzling the almost-bruise. "Did you imagine it was me, wearing those outfits? Doing those things to you?"

Mick remained silent, still a little peeved at his partner for snooping. He thought they had an agreement to stay out of each other's computers. Snart sensed Mick's mood and slipped around him to sit on the bed, leaning back on his hands.

"Pick something. I'll wear it when I ride you. I'll even let you explore."

So that got Mick's attention. Snart called it "exploring" when Mick worshiped his body, trailing his hands over skin that was still smooth and tan, marked with scars and fine hairs. They hadn't done that in awhile, at least not as long as Mick would like to. He liked exploring Snart's body, though recently Snart hadn't wanted his gentles touches. They were too much like before the fire, when they were more. But they going down the same road now, weren't they? It would be okay.

"How long?"

Snart thought for a moment.

"Seven minutes of exploring."

"Deal." And just like that, Snart became Len again.

Mick stood over the bed and surveyed his choices. One was a red skirt, frilly and barely long enough to cover the matching lacy red thong. Tempting, and maybe some other time, but it wasn't really something he envisioned Len feeling confident enough wearing for what Mick wanted to do. There was also an odd-looking shiny latex/leather looking [number ](https://www.savage-wear.com/gb/gents/skirts/short-skirts/210-gladiator-latex-skirt.html#/size-m/color_1-normal_black_0_60mm)that Mick was intrigued by, but again, it was too much. Definitely another time though. The last outfit was a dark blue, almost black, skin tight bandage [skirt ](http://www.herroom.com/oh-la-la-cheri-4205-bandage-skirt-with-garter-and-g-string.shtml)that would end just below the swell of Len's ass that looked like it was made of many ribbons held together by seams on the sides. Tiny clips on the ends of ribbons dangled from the front and back. It looked smooth, and soft, and he wanted to see it cling to Len's body. To go with it, there was a matching little thong, and it looked like it would barely cover anything. There were some other scraps of fabric that Mick didn't recognize but he could tell also went with the skirt. He reached out and touched the skirt, stroking it gently.

"Good," Len said, reaching for it. Mick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it was some kind of weird test. "Go get yourself something to eat. You'll need the energy, and I need time to get ready."

* * *

Mick was still seated at the table that they had in the kitchen area, a beer in his hand. Die Hard had just ended and he was mindlessly channel surfing while he ignored the images his mind was conjuring up. His phone buzzed. Mick picked it up and rolled his eyes.

**Now.**

So damn dramatic.

Len was draped lazily on the bed, lying on his side with his smooth hairless legs stretched out. Mick gazed at him from the doorway, just taking in the sight. So the other fabric bits were black lace-trimmed stockings held up by the clips on the skirt. Mick was thrown for a loop. He always knew Len was drop dead gorgeous. But this...this was something else.

"It ain't even my birthday," Mick said, finally surging forward. "What's your plan?"

"Lay down, Mick," Len said, drawing out the name. "I'm going to take care of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [FANART](http://heroaintonmyresume.tumblr.com/post/145739129742/len-in-lingerie-based-off-of-the-awesome-coldwave)


	4. Third time: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The actual sex

Mick laid back on the bed, propped up by a few pillows so he was comfortable but could still watch Len. He was ogling, there was no way around that and he wasn't trying to hide the lust in his eyes. Len had risen to his feet in one fluid motion and stood a few feet away from the bed, just out of Mick's reach.

"I definitely made the right choice," Mick said, drinking in the way the skirt hugged Len's hips, the way the ribbons holding up the stockings strained and moved with Len's body. Len made a slow turn, showing off his ass, the way the skirt just barely covered it. Even though Len's body had lost some of the hard lines of his youth, though he no longer sported a chiseled set of abs, his stomach was taut and flat and his arms and legs were defined. Mick growled.

"Stop teasing, I know you have a plan."

"Patience, Mick," Len said, straddling Mick. "We have plenty of time."

The short skirt rode up his thighs enough that Mick could catch a glimpse of Len's balls, encased in the black mesh. Mick automatically grasped Len's thighs, sliding his hands until they were just below the tempting ass, which was now partially exposed. He wanted to touch, but he also wanted to savor this. The storm outside raged on, and it wasn't predicted to let up for several hours. Len ran his hands over the burns on Mick's arms, not missing the way Mick shuddered. The scars didn't hurt, nor were they especially sensitive. In fact, most of the nerve endings were dull and useless and ruined without hope of repair. Maybe if he had gotten skin grafts, but he couldn't bring himself to cover his true form because then he would forget. He could feel the pressure of Len's fingers, but not the warmth of his skin or the tickling sensation that used to tingle on certain areas. Still, he remembered what it used to feel like. And the contrast between Len's pale, beautiful hands on his gnarled, twisted skin was strangely erotic to him. The amused gleam in his partner's eyes let him know that Len knew exactly how he felt. He didn't usually touch Mick's scars directly. Too much baggage. But it was different now. Mick wasn't on the razor's edge of leaving again. The tipping point had come and gone.

Len slowly leaned down, allowing his back to arch, and kissed a trail down Mick's chest. Mick allowed him to unbutton his jeans.

"Commando?" Len said, looking through his lashes at Mick's face. Mick shrugged.

"Thunderstorm."

Len rolled his eyes, but didn't stop what he was doing. Mick's pants were soon open enough for Len to pull his dick out, and he pressed mick back onto the pillows when he tried to remove them fully.

"No, leave them on," Len said. He liked the contrast, rough denim and delicate satin.

Mick nodded and didn't resist. He liked this side of Len, playful and soft around the harsh edges that he had acquired over the span of his life. For his part, Len felt exposed in Mick's hungry gaze. He had never indulged quite so far in his secret, and he had never imagined doing so with a partner that didn't think less of him for it. Of course, no one knew him better than Mick. No one else knew that he didn't like being slapped around or being called names during sex. It wasn't something they had ever discussed. Mick just knew his history.

"I'm going to blow you, and then I'm going to ride you," Len stated firmly, knowing that the teasing edge in his voice would rile Mick up. He ground his semi-hard dick against Micks, letting him feel the smooth satin scrap of fabric that separated them. "Any questions?"

"When do I get to explore?" Mick asked, knowing that it fit into the plan somehow and Len was just messing with him. 

"After I'm done with you," Len said. Mick grinned at him, his smile full of promise. "When the storm's passed."

Mick wanted to sit up, to touch and squeeze and feel Len's legs straining against the garters and his ass in the skirt and run his fingers over the hairless skin he could see on his thighs. But these thoughts went out the window when Len leaned down and started to suckle at his head. Len rarely gave blowjobs. He didn't like being on his knees for someone, and the thought of being silenced was not a pleasant one. But now, he was in control, Mick was at _his_ mercy, and he was the one on top. In a sense. 

"Ah, fuck! Len!" Mick grumbled, his fingers fisting in the sheets. Len was working him like a pro, bobbing up and down in-between quick strokes with his hand. It wasn't long before he stopped and climbed up Mick's body to kiss him. Mick sat up and wrapped a large hand around the back of Len's neck and slipped the other one down Len's back to squeeze at his ass. Their kiss turned filthy, tongues warring for dominance as Len made himself more comfortable straddling Mick's lap and rubbing his crotch over Mick's now painfully hard erection. A large crack of thunder rattled the windowpanes. The tight skirt was much stretchier than he would have imagined but when his hand dipped lower to feel underneath, Len's hand stopped him.

"Later," Len mumbled, still pressing his lips against Mick's. "I know how much you like foreplay, but you take too long."

"Impatient are you?" Mick said. "I should get an extra minute."

"Fine."

"You sure you can take me?" Mick teased, still 10% serious. He wasn't shy about the fact that he was larger than average.

Len reached under the skirt and pulled aside the panties so he could slip two fingers inside himself. It was an awkward angle for him to reach, but it was worth the entranced look on Mick's face. He pulled his fingers back out and pointed at the bedside table. Mick rolled his eyes but reached for the lube and grabbed the condom as well. When the condom was on and sufficient lube was applied, Len guided Mick's cock into his hole, groaning as he slowly filled himself. Mick had his hands on Len's hips to support him as he sank down, mostly because he wanted this to last and he didn't want Len to move too fast and hurt himself because honestly, it would have been better if Len had let Mick handle the prep. He was much more thorough. When Len finally felt Mick's under his ass, he stopped, just adjusting. Mick, still sitting upright, brought his arms up to encircle Len and hold him close. The ruined skin of his arms couldn't feel the heat pouring off Len's skin, but Mick knew it was there.

"Mick..." Len whispered.

He wrapped his arms around Mick's neck, just hanging on. It wasn't the most comfortable position to hold with his legs parted over Mick, so he counted exactly thirty seconds before he started moving. He used the muscles in his legs and the leverage of his hands on Mick's shoulders to start moving slowly. Mick let him move, keeping his hands lightly pressed into his hips. Len's face was so close to his, his eyes open and staring straight at him with lust and trust warring for dominance. For a moment, he saw Len as he was the first time they fell into bed together, young and inexperienced but completely trusting. It was intoxicating to see Len with the armor stripped away, and Mick didn't stop himself for leaning in for a kiss. Len kissed him back, at first just the moving of lips, and then gradually turning into something deeper. Mick laid back at Len's insistent pushing, and his partner placed his hands on Mick's chest. The up-and-down motion turned into rolling thrusts, and Len's breath came shallow. Mick let his head fall back and his hips met Len's thrusts until they were moving together. One of the garters snapped under the strain, and the stocking that it had been holding up started to fall down his leg. If it were possible, Mick thought he would be happy in this moment forever.

"Ugn...Mick, now," Len said finally, pulling himself off of Mick. He rolled to the side enough for Mick to get out from under him, and hissed at the sensitivity when Mick slid back into him at the new angle. Mick threw one of Len's legs over his shoulder and pounded into him, enjoying the punched gasps and his own groans. He grabbed the discarded tube and poured some lube onto his hand before snaking it into Len's skirt. He ignored encountered the panties that had been pushed aside by Len's riding and wrapped his hand around Len's cock. Len moaned, the twin stimulation to his prostate and cock making his eyes roll back. Mick felt his orgasm coming and grunted a warning to Len before snapping his hips hard until the aftershocks wore off. Len wasn't far behind under the continued ministrations of Mick's hand as he stayed seated inside Len's hole.

" _Mick_!" Len half-shouted, his back arching off the bed as he came. Mick stroked him to over-sensitivity until Len finally told him to stop. Mick pulled out and collapsed on top of him for a minute.

"You're so warm," Mick muttered. He ran a finger over the seam of the skirt lazily. "I hope you weren't planning on wearing this a second time."

Len chuckled.

"I don't think these things are made to last."

Mick nuzzled Len's neck quickly before standing up. Once the condom was taken care of, he carried a warm damp cloth back for Len. Len put it aside, instead laying back and motioning for Mick to come closer.

"Your seven minutes start now."

"Eight," Mick reminded him. "I get eight minutes."

"Seven minutes and forty-five seconds," Len said. He smirked. "Tick tock."

Mick shed the jeans that had managed to stay on his hips, and climbed on the bed next to Len. He laid on his side and pushed at Len so he'd turn over to his back. Once his back was turned, Mick started trailing his fingers over every mark, every scar, every imperfection. He traced them with a familiarity that only comes from many years of doing the same. Most were old, barely more than barely raised white skin or pink marks. A few were new, the result of heists, fighting with the Flash, one or two from prison, angry red marks.

"This is what I missed the most," Mick admitted as he leaned over and kissed a particularly large scar just to the side of Len's spine over his rib cage. Len hadn't told him the story behind this one, but he didn't have to. Mick knew the mark a belt buckle could leave if enough force was applied over a period of time, and if stitches weren't administered.

Len sighed as Mick got up to kneel over his prone form and starting running his hands over the strong arms that held the cold gun, played with the fingers that could pick any lock or lift any wallet. He smoothed his hands over Len's hips, over the swell of his ass, feeling the skirt's fabric. He placed another kiss on the hollow of his lower back. Len shivered, the sweat cooling on his back. Hands undid the rest of the clasps holding up his stockings, and they were pushed down until they fell off. Mick brushed his fingers over the tender skin, knowing that Len was ticklish there. As much as he liked the way Len's shaved skin felt, it didn't much matter to him what Len looked like in quiet moments like this one. He turned Len back onto his back, aware that the clock was ticking. He kissed and nuzzled Len's stomach, smug when he felt Len's stomach go taut as he tickled him with the scruff on his face. There were more scars on Len's front, ugly old reminders that Lewis was a bastard and Len was a human punching bag. Mick flattened his palms against Len's chest, careful to avoid Len's nipples because he didn't want this to be sexual. He trailed them up, a warm constant pressure. Eight minutes had to have passed.

"You almost died," Len whispered when Mick reached his face. Mick's hands reached out to frame it. "I had to leave."

"I know. I'm an idiot, remember?" Mick tried unsuccessfully to lighten the mood. "You don't have to leave me again. Not anymore. I'm here."

Mick searched Len's face, willing his words to sink in, for Len to believe him.

"Two more minutes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggestions for fanart commissions? Anyone I should contact?

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/grimm-fairy


End file.
